


It Could Be

by wordsofabookworm



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth is there but not a lot lol, Canon What Canon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Give Stephanie hugs 2021, GoodDad!Bruce, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Steph needs love?, i just wanted Steph to be sad and then get hugs, no beta we die like robins, there is no timeline in my universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-01
Updated: 2010-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:47:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29047887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsofabookworm/pseuds/wordsofabookworm
Summary: Stephanie Brown knows that life could be worse, so she trudges on.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	It Could Be

**Author's Note:**

> Why is this piece the way it is? Because I’m mad at my mom and Steph is the only one with a living mom who’s not Talia (who I have mixed feelings about) so yeh. Sorry Mrs. Brown. I’m sure you’re a great mom… sometimes.. maybe.. idk still seems like she’s kind of struggling but here we go.

Stephanie Brown knew one thing. It could be worse. 

She knew it could be worse because sometimes it was. Sometimes her dad was home and when he was home everything was infinitely worse. If it could be worse then Stephanie didn’t complain. It was a rule she made for herself when she was three.

“It could be worse,” she muttered, hiding under the table and pretending her father wasn’t yelling. “He could be yelling at me.”

Her mom wasn’t home from work yet but it could be worse because if her dad was home then she’d be home alone with him. Being alone by herself wasn’t so bad. She could move her homework set up to a more exotic part of the apartment (i.e. the living room couch instead of her bed). She could stretch her limbs and put her feet on the coffee table. She could even fall asleep and still be safe. It really could have been worse. 

That’s what she kept repeating to herself when her mom stumbled through the door. Stephanie knew why she took the late shifts. Everyone knew why she took the late shifts. There was less security. Her arm was still bleeding sluggishly. It was always her right arm now. It used to be her left arm but then her left arm got too scarred up from tracks and the dish her father threw at the wall and shattered on her.

It could be worse.

Stephanie double locked the door and led her mother to bed. She sat down the dazed body that was sometimes her mom and cleaned up her arm. She helped her change out her scrubs. Carefully, Stephanie folded them up and lay them on her mom’s dresser. She tucked her mom in and then went to her own room. 

In the night, when everything was dark, she couldn’t see her purple bed covers. She couldn’t see the pictures on her walls. Instead, she could feel the scratchiness of sheets she’d had since she was seven. They’d long since been washed till they were threadbare and covered in little pilly balls of lint. She could hear the chorus of sirens that always echoed in the background of Gotham. She could hear the neighbors screaming and if she really listened closely she could hear the thrum of the city itself. She stared at the shadows the street lamps cast on her wall. 

It could be worse.

In the morning, Stephanie dragged herself from her bed. She didn’t bother making it. Trudging to the kitchenette, she rinsed out a plastic cup and filled it with tap water. Softly, she knocked on her mom’s door. She placed her ear against it and listened. Steady breathing greeted her. She pushed the door open. Her mother was in the same position she’s left her in except her feet were poking out from under the covers. Stephanie placed the glass of water on the dresser. Then she went to the foot of the bed and pulled the blanket over her mother. She tucked it underneath her so she wouldn’t be able to kick it off in her sleep. She put her mom’s phone to charge. Pressing a quick kiss to her mother’s sweaty forehead, she left the room as quietly as she’s entered. Her mom was breathing. She would wake up eventually.

It could be worse.

Stephanie had seen the water bill last week, so she skipped her morning shower again. She put on the only uniform she owned, grabbed her backpack, and went to school. Luckily, she had gym first. After class, she reveled in the quick spray of cold water. At least she got a chance to wash off. 

It could be worse.

Stephanie Brown forced her way through the first, second, and third period. Finally, lunchtime came. She scanned the tables, eyes lighting up when she spotted him.

“Hey, Tim,” she grinned, sliding next to him. He smiled back at her. She popped open her bag of vending machine peanuts and munched on her lunch, taking large gulps of water in between to fill her stomach. She knew Tim was watching her.

Stephanie’s mom had been working for three days. There has been a gang fight and the hospital was swamped.

——————

“Why should I feed a rat like you, “ he sneered. 

Steph tried to placate her growling stomach at snack time with gold fish. It didn’t work. When she fell asleep for the fourth time in class because her tummy hurt and she was tired the teacher just smiled sadly and gave her an extra juice box.

——————

It could be worse.

“Alfred packed me two sandwiches,” he offered, the second one was tuna. Tim hated tuna. They both knew that. Steph wasn’t starving by any means but her mother had forgotten to give her money for groceries the last week and she’d run her emergency stash dry. Stephanie Brown was many things. Poor was one of them. Prideful was not. Pride was too expensive. Steph took the sandwich with a toothy smile.

“Thanks,” she replied, ripping off the crusts. The crust was her favorite part so it had to be eaten last. 

“No problem,” he said it so easily that for a moment she wanted to punch him. That wasn’t fair. It wasn’t his fault that it was a problem. It could have been worse.

Tim insisted she come over for dinner at the manor and Steph couldn’t really refuse Alfred’s cooking. Not when she knew her mother would be working another late shift. Steph sat in the Wayne dining room, trying her best not appear like a vagrant Tim had brought home. She pulled her purple jacket closer around her body. Alfred placed a plate of waffles in front of her. He had remembered. Someone had remembered her favorite food and taken the time to make it for her. Stephanie bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut to keep hot tears from escaping. A small sob escaped her.

It could be worse. She just had to keep it inside.

Distantly, she could hear Tim’s fork clatter. He must have dropped it. Large, warm hands weighed on her shoulders. 

“Stephanie?” a voice asked.

“Whats going on?” Tim’s voice cracked. Dully, Steph told herself she’d have to tease him about that. “Why is she crying?” 

“Stephanie,” the voice repeated, firmer this time but still filled with warmth, “Stephanie, are you injured?” 

“No,” she whispered, “I’m fine.”

“Stephanie, “ the voice sounded sad. Why was it sad? “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong, “ Stephanie spluttered, “Everything is fine.”

“Is your dad out of prison?” the voice asked urgently. Stephanie’s vision was starting to focus again. She was fine. It could be worse.

“No, he's still gone, “ she murmured.

“Is your mom okay?” Tim asked, the voice hushed him. 

“She’s the same as always. She's working,” Steph answered honestly, “Everything is fine. She just hasn't been to the grocery store in awhile and she came home pretty rough last night and well, it could be worse.”

“Oh, Steph,” the voice who she was pretty sure was actually Bruce, wrapped her in a hug. “Just because it could be worse doesn’t mean it's good.”

And that must’ve been the last straw because the next thing Steph knew, she was crying again. This time she was encircled by strong, safe arms. She felt safe in a way she never felt with her father or even with her mother. She cried and Bruce noticed. He was seeing her. Not through glassy eyes like her mother, or without understanding like Tim often did. She felt seen.

“Come away now, Master Timothy,” she heard Alfred ushering Tim out of the room.

“Stephanie,” with her head just reaching Bruce’s chest she could feel the rumble of his voice, “You’re welcome here anytime. You deserve better than you’ve gotten. I’m sorry. If you need something just talk to me.”

And strangely enough... Stephanie believed him.


End file.
